"I see . . .' said the vampire thoughtfully, and slowly he walked across the room towards
the window. For a long time he stood there against the dim light from Divisadero Street
and the passing beams of traffic. The boy could see the furnishings of the room more
clearly now, the round oak table, the chairs. A wash basin hung on one wall with a
mirror. He set his brief case on the table and waited.
"But how much tape do you have with you?" asked the vampire, turning now so the boy
could see his profile. "Enough for the story of a life?"
"Sure, if it's a good life. Sometimes I interview as many as three or four people a night if
I'm lucky. But it has to be a good story. That's only fair, isn't it?"
"Admirably fair," the vampire answered. "I would like to tell you the story of my life,
then. I would like to do that very much."
"Great," said the boy. And quickly he removed the small tape recorder from his brief
case, making a check of the cassette and the batteries. "I'm really anxious to hear why
you believe this, why you . . ."
"No," said the vampire abruptly. "We can't begin that way. Is your equipment ready?"
"Yes," said the boy.
"Then sit down. I'm going to turn on the overhead light."
"But I thought vampires didn't like light," said the boy. "If you think the dark adds to the
atmosphere."
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